


lifestyles of the rich and famous

by lightyears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basically everyone is horny af in this okay, Blow Jobs, Brat!Clarke, Chauffeur!Bellamy, Degrading Language, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Smut, Socialite!Clarke, Spanking, Spoilt!Clarke, asshole!bellamy, but in a good way, just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27311113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: "Miss Griffin,” David greets, as Clarke makes her way down the set of marble stairs leading from the front porch of what can only be described as a mansion. “Do you have a minute?”Her gaze flicks very briefly to Bellamy, running over him in barely two seconds before shifting to David. A clear assessment and dismissal, though Bellamy doesn’t miss the twitch of her pink lips. Nor does he let the slight affect his own, far slower perusal. Blonde hair that’s curled loosely around her shoulders, just begging for someone to thread their fingers through during a quick, rough fuck. A dress that hugs her curves sinfully, showing off tits that are more impressive in person than on camera, with a thigh slit so high it would barely take him five seconds to slip his hand into her panties, if they were sitting side by side.“Anything for you, David,” Clarke says. “What’s up?”“I just wanted to introduce you to Bellamy Blake before he starts tomorrow. He’ll be taking over Atom’s position as one of your drivers.”
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 31
Kudos: 282
Collections: Bellarke smut





	lifestyles of the rich and famous

**Author's Note:**

> Last one for this year's effort to do some sort of kinktober
> 
> happy halloween y'all

Miller’s the one who tells him to apply for the job, after Bellamy asks who the fuck Clarke Griffin is, and maintains the question even after his friend pulls up a photo of a pretty blonde in a tiny dress, showing off some impressive tits. Apparently his unwillingness to give a shit about socialites is a trait that works in his favour, when it comes to actually working for them.

That, or Miller’s an asshole who thinks Bellamy’s ineptitude will be amusing to witness second hand.

Still, he’s an asshole who gets him an interview with his dad, and through David Bellamy learns that it’s actually a really fucking good gig. While he doesn’t understand why anyone needs not only a personal chauffeur, but a rotating staff of them who’ll be available for her twenty-four seven, Bellamy won’t complain about how the rich spend their money in this regard. The position is to replace a guy who worked nights, and given that’s when Bellamy worked anyway — only a lot less consistently as an Uber driver — it seems pretty fucking perfect.

When his services aren’t required he’ll be able to study, or read, or do whatever the fuck he wants, really, and because he truly doesn’t give a fuck about the Griffin family — let alone the popular heiress whose existence he’s only just become aware of — he won’t get caught up in whatever shit he imagines other potential employees would.

He can push through his reservations about the rich and famous long enough to get on their payroll.

And, after an interview with David, the following mountain of paperwork that involves an actual fucking NDA — as if he’d care enough to spill the secrets of this one woman to the public — he does.

Which means the day before he starts, Bellamy gets his first taste of the truly fucking rich. Rocking up to the huge estate in his crappy car, one that requires a fucking security pin to be allowed in. There’s a separate car park for staff around back, and a dedicated side entrance, too, leading to a staff area. Which, while kind of fucked up in terms of its overall presence in a house, is a whole lot nicer than any other staff area in places Bellamy’s worked at before.

It’s there that David offers Bellamy a seat, and once again runs through some of the logistics of the job. That he’ll be paid for the entirety of his shift even if he’s dismissed early. That to be dismissed early, he needs explicit verbal confirmation. Most communication will be via a work phone that’s passed between the drivers on staff, but he’ll receive a daily calendar, too, for any pre-planned events. That he’ll need to keep the doors locked whenever Clarke’s inside the car, and that it’s expected of him to open the door for her, too, when she’s getting either in or out.

That one, he has to keep himself from rolling his eyes at, but apparently his bafflement at the lives of entitled, rich people is clear on his face, as a woman joins them in the room, a smirk pulling at her lips.

“You’ll get used to it,” she says, coming up beside David and giving him a nod in greeting.

She’s wearing the fuck out of a particularly well-fitted suit, swinging some car keys in hand, so he’s assuming is part of the team of personal drivers for one Miss Clarke Griffin. David quickly confirms that.

“Oh, Harper. This is Bellamy. He’s taking over Atom’s position.”

“Good to meet you, Bellamy,” Harper says, leaning over to offer a hand. He takes it, notes the way hers lingers just a beat after they shake, the glimmer of interest in her eyes. Bellamy wonders whether there are any policies against staff fraternisation, because she looks like she’d be a truly enjoyable fuck. “Have you met her yet?”

Interesting question right off the bat, but probably not surprising given what Miller’s alluded to. “Not yet,” he says, his own smile twitching. Already it feels like they’re sharing a joke at Clarke’s expense. “Any tips?”

He’s not sure if her laugh bodes well. “Oh, _so many_. But perhaps for another time. We’re just on our way out.”

David clears his throat, and when Bellamy looks over, seems to be attempting to stifle his own amused smile. Apparently Clarke’s reputation is well-known, even amongst staff who try not to get involved in what Bellamy supposes is the equivalent of office gossip. “Actually, we’ll join you, Harper,” he says, nodding for Bellamy to follow. “I’m just running Bellamy through everything, and it’d be good to introduce him to Clarke before tomorrow.”

She leads them to a huge garage while David gives Bellamy a running commentary of how everything works, hops into a Rolls-fucking-Royce — of course — and pulls it out with ease, driving up to the front of the estate while they follow on foot. Models the job's requirements when she gets right back out of the car to stand by the back seat door, ready to open it as soon as the all-important passenger arrives.

When she does, it’s with a certain quality about her that innately draws focus. Somehow, Bellamy knows, not as a result of the simple explanation — that she is their employer — but instead a far more intriguing one. That there’s an alluring energy that charges around her, that suggests there may be more to her than meets the eye.

Interesting.

But, given Clarke’s a rich socialite who’s seemingly both without any effort of her own, probably unlikely.

And regardless, Bellamy really shouldn’t care. Doesn’t care. Even though he can appreciate in some sense that she’s even hotter in person than the quick search he did after Miller first mentioned her existence, he won’t be sucked into all this crap. He’s just here to get paid.

"Miss Griffin,” David greets, as Clarke makes her way down the set of marble stairs leading from the front porch of what can only be described as a mansion. “Do you have a minute?”

Her gaze flicks very briefly to Bellamy, running over him in barely two seconds before shifting to David. A clear assessment and dismissal, though Bellamy doesn’t miss the twitch of her pink lips. Nor does he let the slight affect his own, far slower perusal. Blonde hair that’s curled loosely around her shoulders, just begging for someone to thread their fingers through during a quick, rough fuck. A dress that hugs her curves sinfully, showing off tits that are also more impressive in person than on camera, with a thigh slit so high it would barely take him five seconds to slip his hand into her panties, if they were sitting side by side.

“Anything for you, David,” Clarke says, and here her smile turns just a touch flirtatious. Bellamy wonders if she’s tried to sleep with the man before, decides quickly that she has. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to introduce you to Bellamy Blake before he starts tomorrow. He’ll be taking over Atom’s position as one of your drivers.”

Clarke hums, and only now does she actually meet his eyes. Hers are a bright blue, pupils blown wide. She holds his gaze for a beat, before dropping it pointedly to his hand, firmly by his side. Bellamy knows it’s expected of him to offer it, but there’s something so satisfying in withholding such a simple gesture, knowing Clarke would so rarely be denied. Just a bit of power he doesn’t want to concede to a woman who already has so much.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Griffin,” he says instead, working to keep his smirk in check. Better not to be too obvious in his amusement.

Her eyes narrow, lips pursing just slightly. Somehow, indignation looks really fucking hot on her. “You’ll do,” she says, another dismissal in only two words, but he’s sure that over the years, she’s had her practice. Turning to David to thank him, she’s far kinder, and then to Harper, her smile one of familiarity. “Shall we head, Harp? I’m feeling James Blake today.”

“Of course, Clarke,” Harper says, ushering the woman into the car. Bellamy catches her eye just a second before the door closes her inside, recognises the challenging flicker in her gaze, but Harper’s drawing his focus before he can think too much about it. Voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, a stupid hot smirk on her face, she nods to where Clarke’s sitting in the car behind closed doors. “First tip of the trade, James Blake means she’s high as a fucking kite.”

Bellamy can’t help but chuckle at that, and this time, even David concedes a wry smile, though he’s quick to issue what Bellamy imagines is a common statement to new staff.

“Just reminding you, your NDA is already in effect.”

+

If their first meeting wasn’t enough of a warning about Clarke Griffin, as a person, the NDA really should’ve been.

To be fair, the first couple of weeks working for her are quite uneventful. She’s got a stupid fucking active social calendar, through all hours of the day, but of course she does — he wouldn’t have been hired if not — and likes to come and go as she pleases, barely three minute warnings when his services are required for things that are rarely on her prepared schedule. Doesn’t adhere to the unspoken rule that driver picks the music — though Bellamy supposes it’s maybe not a rule that holds when said driver is being paid —and seems to have at least two after-parties to every event she’s invited to, an endless supply of sinful dresses and fuck-me heels.

The first few days, she maintains the dismissive attitude of their first meeting, but it doesn’t take her long to realise it’s not one that bothers him. That in fact, Bellamy prefers not having to make any further effort than is strictly required as someone in her service. Quickly, she shifts to the complete other end of the spectrum, begins what’s nothing more than a stream of consciousness every time they’re in the car together, the amused smile on her face making it clear she knows what she’s doing. Forcing him to find his professionalism and feign interest.

Still, all things that come with the job, he supposes, nothing that would suggest the document he signed was far more than just a formality.

The first taste of that _,_ is in the early hours of a Sunday morning in September, after the third event of Clarke’s night. Just past three when he receives the text requesting he collect her, pulls the stupid expensive car that for some fucking reason he’s been trusted with from the venue’s underground lot.

She’s waiting at the main entrance, where banners announce a fundraiser for the city’s public schools is being held. Given how expensive he imagines the little, navy dress she’s slipped into tonight is, he’s hoping she at least donated some of her ridiculous fortune.

“Miss Griffin,” he greets as he opens the door for her. Tries not to roll his eyes at the sharp, flirtatious smile she offers before sliding into her seat. It’s something she’s thrown into the mix over the last week or so, another attempt to test his professionalism, just like her constant, inane chatter.

Which is why it puts him slightly on edge, when tonight, she remains suspiciously quiet in the back seat, as they make their way back to the Griffin estate. After establishing a dynamic that was clearly a flex of power, it’s a distinct, purposeful change, and while Bellamy initially wrote her off as nothing more than a spoilt, rich socialite — one of hundreds, in this city — he’s since learnt Clarke Griffin’s at least one with a sharper mind than he gave credit. Whatever this move is now, it’s a calculated one.

Fifteen long minutes pass with a hum of tension surrounding Bellamy when he hears it. Over the thrum of music — this time The Weeknd — the distinct sound of clothes rustling.

Instinctively, his eyes flick to the rearview mirror, all that tension drawing hot and sharp right through his every muscle as soon as he does.

Because there’s Clarke in the back seat, casually stripping out of her slip of a dress. Revealing a pair of fucking incredible tits that are just _begging_ to be handled, a scrap of lacy fabric that barely passes as panties.

One of the first features David mentioned about this car was the divider that allowed the passengers privacy. Clarke’s not elected to use it with him these past couple of weeks, but she’s also never chosen to use the car as a changing room. Now, not only is she, but it’s a decision that — based on the heat in her gaze when she quickly catches his in the mirror, the wickedness held in the far slower curve of her lips — is entirely deliberate.

Bellamy clears his throat, diverting his gaze back to the road ahead of him, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Ignores the way his cock stirs beneath his trousers, the sound of Clarke’s breathy laugh behind him.

The remainder of the drive is made on complete auto-pilot, Bellamy acutely aware of the woman just a few feet away. The rustling of clothes continuing for another minute, followed by the low hum of Clarke’s voice singing along to the music playing.

She’s pulled on an oversized tee by the time they arrive back to the estate, one that just barely falls over the tops of her thighs. Her gala dress in one hand, heels in the other, as she slides out of the car to pass him, in his required spot holding the door open. There’s mischief in her eyes when she pauses, looks up at him. Searches his face for a reaction Bellamy makes sure not to give.

“That’ll be all for tonight, Mr Blake,” she says, her voice soft, far huskier than it has any fucking right to be. “I hope you find something to do for the remainder of your night.”

Her gaze dips pointedly to his cock. While no longer half-hard, it’s clear she suspects he recently was. Clearly, Clarke Griffin regards herself very highly. Fucking brat.

It’s a realisation, though, that helps. Bellamy knows how to deal with brats. Offering an easy smile, he nods, keeps his voice low but measured. “That’s very kind of you, Miss Griffin. I’m sure I’ll find someone to occupy my time.”

Heat flashes in her eyes, not quite masking the simultaneous surprise. Clearly, she didn’t think he’d meet her with this shit. She lingers a beat, and he can feel the way a dangerous form of tension thickens in the space between them, before she steps past him with a smile far sweeter than he knows is true of her. Without another word, she continues up to the mansion she calls home.

Bellamy ignores the glimpse of her ass cheeks the set of stairs up to the front door provides, and definitely doesn’t think about the flash of Clarke’s tits later, either, once he’s made good on his word and found someone to occupy him.

+

He raises it with Harper the next day, when she’s handing over, receives a delighted laugh in response.

“Clarke likes to tease,” she says, rolling her eyes, though she seems almost fond in the description. He wonders if they’ve hooked up before. Wouldn’t put it past Clarke to try. “Apparently socialites get bored easily. You’ll get used to it.”

Bellamy considers the words, nods at the explanation. It’s about the conclusion he came to, too, when he had a chance to properly run the incident over in his mind today. Clarke’s just a rich, little girl used to toying with people for her own fucking amusement. He can work with that no problem. All he has to do is not play into her games — simple enough.

Now, he refocuses on the woman with him instead of their brat of an employer. He hasn’t seen Harper in a few days, because she’s just happened to wrap up her shifts early, and he’ll admit he’s missed the easy flirting her presence usually provides. “So,” he changes the subject, shooting her a smile that Octavia has declared his Fuckboy Smirk. “You want to get a drink some time?”

Harper chuckles, looking him up and down with an eye Bellamy’s not being vain in recognising as interested. “I have a boyfriend, Bellamy.”

He shrugs. “He can come, too.”

She laughs again, though this time she looks at him a little longer, more considered. Bellamy keeps his cool. It’s always enjoyable, watching people contemplate a threesome. “Monty probably would be into the whole tall, dark and handsome thing you’ve got going on. I’ll ask.”

“You do that.”

Harper rolls her eyes, likely at the cockiness he can’t help but roughen his words. “In the meantime,” she says, pointed. “Don’t let the princess get to you. Trust me, she wants a reaction.”

Of course she does.

Still, the validation only solidifies Bellamy’s resolve not to get sucked into Clarke Griffin’s games. She wants to strip in the back seat and show off her body to him? That’s fine. Bellamy’s always appreciated exhibitionism, and will happily get a look at her bare tits if she’s offering — save the image for a rainy day he’s only got his hand as company for — but that doesn’t mean he’ll give her the reaction she craves. Denying her will just be another bit of power he can hold onto.

Knowing that and living with it are two different things, though. Going into his next shift, Bellamy can’t deny that he’s somewhat on edge, just waiting for Clarke to pull her next stunt.

Of course, she doesn’t. And doesn’t again the following night, or the night after that. Something that maybe shouldn’t surprise him, given the particular sharpness she’s already proven to have. She obviously recognises the importance of anticipation to her games, the way it draws tension to their every drive together, every conversation she forces upon him, and after the first incident, she manages two whole weeks on her best behaviour before the next.

This time, it’s picking her up from a date.

Harper’s the one who dropped Clarke off, but she gives him a heads-up when handing over. Clarke’s date is Josephine Lightbourne, an old family friend, and if there’s anyone in the world who brings out Clarke’s wild side, it’s her.

Which means, as Bellamy stands in his customary position by the car, outside the entrance to whatever exclusive restaurant they’ve just been to, he’s curious to watch the woman come out with Clarke.

They’re hand in hand, heads pressed close together in girlish giggles as they race towards the car. Bellamy opens the back door for them, ignoring the flash of paparazzi cameras that bizarrely, he’s grown used to over the past month. Probably somewhere in the country is a journalist writing an article about how they’re #bffgoals, choosing to ignore the very obvious fuck-me eyes that Bellamy, for one, can very easily recognise.

Clearly tipsy, they practically tumble into the back seat together, more giggling as Bellamy shuts them away from any onlookers.

“Mr Blake,” Clarke says when he gets back into the driver’s seat, locks the car and starts it up. Her voice is warm and slurred, excitement alight in her eyes when he catches her gaze in the rearview mirror. “We’re dropping off Josie first.”

“Mr Blake,” Josie repeats, half-laughing. Clearly mocking Clarke’s formality as she rattles off an address that he can put into the sat-nav, a security pin that of-fucking-course is required. “Don’t be offended, _Mr Blake_ , but I’m putting up the divider, _Mr Blake_.”

Bellamy can’t help but think that if it were up to Clarke, she’d leave it down. Perhaps Josie’s not actually the wilder one, when it comes right down to it.

“Shut up,” Clarke says, though she’s fucking giggling again.

“How ‘bout you fucking _shut_ me up?”

He can’t resist watching through the rearview mirror as Clarke does, pushing forward to claim Josie’s mouth. Despite any misgivings about these women and the stupid lives they live, Bellamy can’t deny it’s a pretty sight, the kiss hot and dirty, but familiar. He’s guessing they hook up somewhat regularly, imagines that they have been for a while. As old family friends, they’ve probably been doing this since they first started experimenting with sex at all. Now, at least, he suspects they’re both pros.

His view is cut off before he can get too carried away at the spectacle, the divider coming up between them with a quiet buzz, though not before Clarke pulls away to catch his eye just once more.

Fucking _winks_.

Yeah, if it were up to her, she’d let Bellamy watch the whole fucking thing. He doesn’t know whether to be grateful that Josie’s sought privacy or not.

Even with the divider up, his imagination doesn’t have to work very hard to conjure an image of what the two girls are doing in the back seat. Pretty noises are quick to sound over the thrum of music, giggles running into moans and soft whines. The distinct sound of two people having a really fucking good time together.

His cock enjoys those sounds a lot, heat rushing to get him half-hard in barely a few minutes, as it becomes increasingly clear that Clarke and Josie have moved on from just making out. The build easy to identify as whines turn to what he suspects are Josie’s muffled beggings of _yes, yes, right there, yes_ , growing to a moaned crescendo just before he pulls into her estate. Followed by soft, happy murmurs and, of course, more fucking giggling.

Bellamy’s not sure he’s heard so much giggling since his sister held sleepovers at their house as a pre-teen.

Even after arriving, he takes his time slowing the car to a stop. Turning off the engine. As much for the girls’ benefit as his cock’s. He needs the time to cool it down before he hops out. Before he gives a warning knock on the back window, only opening the door once a full fifteen seconds have passed, making sure to keep his eyes straight ahead, not to catch any glimpse of whatever disarray they might still be in.

Perhaps that’s why, after Josie helps Clarke out of the car, Clarke makes sure she doesn’t go very far. Choosing to stand right in front of Bellamy for their goodbye, forcing him to pay at least some attention.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in, princess?” Josie asks, her voice soft and pleading. From the corner of his eye, Bellamy can see that she reaches out to play with some of Clarke’s hair. “Gabe’s waiting for me upstairs. We could have some fun.”

“I’m sure, babe,” Clarke says, a tone that makes him think it’s not the first time she’s said the words to Josie. “You always forget how into each other you get. It’s why nobody likes having threesomes with you.”

Bellamy’s mouth twitches in amusement, gaze flicking to Josie just long enough to catch her pout, barely there for a second before she laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. That boy likes this pussy.”

“Mm. Who doesn’t? Here.” Leaning in, Clarke draws Josie in to a soft, slow kiss that has Bellamy’s control wavering, eyes shifting to watch them. If it weren’t for him being Clarke’s employee, it would almost feel like the early minutes of their own threesome, taking in the easy slide of the two women’s lips together. When she pulls back, her smile is indulgent, playful. “There. That should get you up stairs at least. Go have fun.”

Josie lingers for a long beat before letting out a soft sigh of seeming defeat. Turning to face Bellamy — the first proper acknowledgement outside of the few words that would get her home — she offers a coy smile, reaching out to run a teasing finger down his chest.

“You get her home safely, _Mr Blake_. Precious cargo, that one.”

Clarke’s pushing her away before she even finishes the sentence. “Upstairs, babe. Gabe’ll be getting antsy.”

A little, excited squeal is Josie’s only response before she’s pressing a brief kiss to Clarke’s lips and making her exit. Bellamy watches as she runs up to the house on slightly wobbly legs, keeps his focus until she’s safely inside, despite the weight of another gaze hot on his neck.

There’s a challenge in Clarke’s eyes when he meets them, a spark that flashes over the dark desire. He can’t resist.

“Did you have fun, _princess_?”

Clarke smirks, unfazed by his mockery. “Josie’s always been pretty greedy, so not as much as I could’ve. But I didn’t feel much like watching her get fucked by Gabe when I could take things into my own hands.” It’s a statement she lets settle between them for a long moment, as she draws her bottom lip between her teeth. Instinctively, his body aches to bite it, but he resists. Already knows she’s not finished. “I’ve got a dildo with my name on it at home, anyway.”

 _Fuck_. His cock likes the pretty image that conjures, though Bellamy manages to keep his voice measured. “Best get you home quickly then. Huh, princess?”

Surprise again flashes across her face. Clearly she was expecting a different response after tonight’s effort, but she doesn’t let another failed attempt deter her. Has her own, little say once they’re back in the car, driving to the Griffin estate, putting on that song about Lana Del Rey fucking her way to the top.

A familiar tension settles in the car, but it’s one that, now that the edge of anticipation has eased, Bellamy doesn’t mind sitting in so much. Nor does he mind when Clarke again lingers far closer than at all necessary, when sliding out of the car once they’ve arrived.

While she lets her gaze run over him indulgently, she still dismisses him quickly, this time with the assurance that she’ll be busy for the remainder of the night, anyway.

Clearly, she wants him imagining her fucking herself with a dildo.

Fucking brat.

Bellamy doesn’t comment, makes his leave with a forced steadiness he doesn’t quite feel, and later, on his drive back home, he pretends he doesn’t see the notification from Murphy asking if he’s free — an obvious booty text.

Instead, relaxes onto his bed with a hand wrapped around his cock, and lets that image of Clarke and her dildo finish him off.

+

The stripping and hooking up quickly become regular features of their drives over the next few weeks.

Clarke’s got an appetite for fucking that rivals his own, new partners every couple of days, and though he’s never formally introduced, he usually catches their muffled names through the divider. Raven, Nyko, Gaia, Roan. Friends that he suspects before he got onto the scene, were used to a bit more privacy than Clarke’s car. From what he’s asked of Harper —in bed together, with her boyfriend Monty, after a very fun fuck of their own — it seems that only since he became her driver Clarke’s impatience has so consistently gotten the better of her.

Not that Bellamy minds. While his cock still gets excited catching bare skin in the rearview mirror, listening to the back seat sex, he’s grown used to driving with a semi. Used to the charged moments he and Clarke share every shift.

Of course, she still manages to catch him off guard, another few weeks later.

Mel’s got her mouth around his cock when the text lights up his phone, sucking him off rather lazily in reciprocation to the tongue he fucked her with earlier. Bellamy groans when he reads it over, the entitlement that loses none of its effect over text. _I’m at grounders. Pick me up. Clarke_

He didn’t even know she had his personal number, but it’s probably not surprising, really. She’d be well within her right to get any of his information from David. “Fuck,” he says, running a hand through his hair. It’s stupid that he’s even considering doing as she’s ordered, when he’s not working. When he’s currently getting his cock sucked.

Mel slides off, arches an amused brow. “Okay. I know you’re not that quick.”

“Yeah, no. Fuck.” Blowing out a breath, he shifts on the bed, stands. “I gotta go.”

Thankfully, Mel doesn’t look upset, nor would he expect her to. She lives in an apartment a few doors down, fucked him in thanks after he helped her move some of the heavier items into her place last year. They’ve got a good arrangement going, hooking up every couple of weeks or so, when they’re both horny but too lazy to make the effort of finding someone at a bar. She’s also made it clear she would absolutely never date him, and regularly tells him about the other guys she fucks, just to drive the point home.

Now, she’s more amused than anything. “Seriously?”

Bellamy nods, tugs on a pair of jeans from his drawers. “Work emergency,” he says, which sounds fucking stupid even to himself.

Mel laughs, getting up from her knees and falling back onto his bed, stretching out lazily. In a threadbare tee that her nipples peak through and nothing else, Bellamy’s reminded of how fucking gorgeous she really is. Of the stupid fucking decision he’s making now, leaving her to go help someone who, tonight at least, he has no reason to help.

“Let me guess. Someone broke a nail?”

More like Clarke’s realised that Grounders is the last fucking place a person like her should be at, but Mel doesn’t need to know that. “Wouldn’t put it past her,” he says instead, tugging on a top. After a beat of consideration, he grabs an extra pair of sweats too. “Sorry.”

She shrugs, uncaring. “I’d be more upset if you hadn’t already gotten me off. I’ll get you next time, yeah?”

“Sounds good. You can let yourself out. Or just pass out, whatever.”

A thumbs up is all he gets in response. Bellamy chuckles, toeing on some shoes and grabbing his keys. Feeling kinder than he really should, he sends Clarke a text to let her know he’s on his way. She’d deserve it, having to sweat until he arrived, but he can admit to himself that he doesn’t want her doing anything stupid in the interim. Somehow, she’d probably spin it to be his fault if she did.

Thankfully, he knows the hole in the wall bar well, one of his locals, and it takes him less than ten minutes to pull up at the corner of the street. He’s quick to realise Clarke’s real problem, the telltale signs of paparazzi ones that catch Bellamy’s eye quickly. While he doesn’t exactly keep up to date with the headlines relating to the princess, he’d imagine it’d be bad for the Griffin image that she be seen at this kind of place.

Good thing he brought the extra pair of sweats. He grabs a beanie that’s sitting in the passenger side, too — probably Miller’s — and makes his way down the alley lining the bar. Lincoln, one of the bartenders here who Bellamy used to fuck on occasion, before he got involved with his sister, is acting as makeshift bouncer tonight, manning the side entrance. It’s all Bellamy needs to know that Clarke’s caused something of a stir.

“Don’t worry,” he says, nodding at Lincoln in greeting. “I’m here to take her home.”

He chuckles, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “Anya will be glad. She almost got in a fight with one of the pricks trying to get in with a camera.”

Bellamy laughs, unsurprised of Anya’s response. She’s got little to no tolerance for bullshit. Stepping past Lincoln, he makes his way into the dingy bar, the low thrum of old rock playing. Even with the low lights, the haze of smoke that’s definitely not legal, he finds Clarke easily, tucked away in a booth by herself.

It’s clear the other patrons have too. He feels the weight of multiple gazes as he walks over, slides into the booth next to her. Is greeted by the floral scent of her perfume, the warmth of her body — barely covered by a tiny red dress — as she looks up at him with an expression that’s definitely not as guilty as it should be.

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, just arches his brow, pointed.

Clarke shrugs, biting back a fucking smile, like she’s not just gotten him out of bed of his night off to deal with her shit. “My friend ditched me to get laid, and thought it’d be funny to tip someone off that I was here.”

Blowing out a long breath, he takes the drink Clarke’s nursing and downs it himself. Straight whisky. It’s what he needs to engage further. “Why are you friends with some of these people, again?”

“She’s got good coke.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, hands over the sweats he brought. “Change into these and we’ll go.”

Her lips twitch in amusement, and Bellamy tries not to think about how fucking close she is right now, how easily he could slip a hand between her thighs. “Your plan is to Hannah Montana this situation?”

“Didn’t realise that was a verb.” He clears his throat, nods towards the bathrooms pointedly. “ _Or,_ I’m happy to leave you here, princess.”

Her gaze flicks between him and the clothes, but apparently she decides he’d make good on the threat, and follows Bellamy out of the booth. He waits outside the bathroom as she changes, can’t help his smirk when she steps back out. Fucking swarmed by his sweats, the pants rolled up a few times, the top falling to her thighs. Still wearing her heels, her make up and hair perfectly in place, it’s a combination that looks fucking ridiculous.

“This may be the new athleisure trend,” she says, looking down at herself, far more pleased by the outfit than it at all deserves.

“What the fuck is athleisure?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, and then again when he hands her the beanie. “Seriously?”

Bellamy shrugs, already making his way back to the side entrance. “Do what you want,” he says over his shoulder, aware of just how low his voice remains, tone almost warning. “But if you get caught getting into some random car, I’m guessing it’ll look worse than getting into your own.”

He hears the indignant huff she makes, but she follows him anyway, and when Bellamy makes it back out to the alley, she’s gotten most of her hair hidden away beneath the beanie. They make it to his car unnoticed, the makeshift disguise doing its job, for which he’s glad. Clarke doesn’t comment about the state of his car, but Bellamy can’t help but find it a bit amusing, watching her slide into his couple of grand piece of crap, when she’s used to the luxury of one worth hundreds of thousands.

When he pulls back onto the street, Clarke’s quick to pull off the beanie and slide down in her seat, away from the un-tinted windows. Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Where’s Harper waiting? I’ll drop you off.”

She shakes her head, a coy smile playing at her lips as she looks up at him. “No need, Mr Blake. I’ve told her to have the night. I have other plans.”

Bellamy meets her gaze, raising a brow. It shouldn’t surprise him, that she’s now made him responsible for those plans. “Being?”

“I’ll just come over,” she says, a false innocence in the statement that Bellamy sees through right fucking away.

That it’s not even a question is deliberate choice, a mild act of provocation. Fucking entitled brat. He looks back at the road ahead, again doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. “There might be someone there,” he warns, making a turn to head back to his place. Mel’s usually quick to fall asleep after sex, and though they didn’t exactly finish tonight, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’s taken up his offer to just pass out in his bed.

Actually, it might be gratifying. After all the little shows Clarke’s put on, all the boys and girls she’s fucked — to some degree — in his presence, it could be amusing, finally pulling the same shit on her.

She obviously recognises that it’s only fair. “You’ve seen the same from me.”

Mel’s in fact not there, but she’s left a post-it note stuck to the front door of his apartment. _Thanks for making me come :)_. Clarke takes it, a delighted smile pulling at her mouth as Bellamy opens the door, lets her in.

“Handwriting makes me think it’s a girl,” she says, contemplative. “But that might just be some good old-fashioned gender stereotyping.”

“It was a girl, this time.” Bellamy chucks his keys on the counter, eyes running over the small living area of his apartment. He’s been a bit lax about tidying up of late, but he doesn’t really care about Clarke’s opinion of his place anyway. “Drink?”

“Always.”

He pulls out his shittiest beers from the fridge, passes one to Clarke before taking a seat on the armchair. Definitely safer than the couch. Clarke follows suit, though she does take the couch, making herself far more comfortable than is at all polite for someone visiting for the first time. Bellamy’s not surprised.

They watch each other for a long moment, taking slow pulls of their drinks. Despite her attire, she still looks completely out of place in his apartment. That certain magnetism he noticed when first meeting her hasn’t diminished, and it’s one that holds an elusive, almost expensive quality, that makes it clear she’s far more used to the finer things in life. In fact, he wonders now if this is her first time alone in someone’s apartment, this side of the city. He suspects it’ll make a good story for her friends one day. The thrill of experiencing the seedier side of life, when she’s got the security to know it’s only for one night.

“So, you’re not going to ask?” She says eventually, tilting her head in coy curiosity. There’s a dangerous spark in her eyes, that quickly has heat thrumming through Bellamy’s veins.

She could be referring to a range of things. Why she strips in the back seat of the car, or fucks people there, for that matter. Why she snuck out to this part of the city tonight, or why she texted him to collect her, when she had another dedicated driver waiting for her directions. Doesn’t really matter; whatever the question’s about, his response is the same.

Bellamy shrugs. “Don’t really care, princess.”

A smile pulls at her lips, dangerous, almost sinful. She makes a sweet humming sound, taking another sip of her drink. “Yes, you’re very level-headed, Mr Blake. Nothing seems to faze you.” It’s an observation that has resolve flashing dark in her gaze. Keeping it fixed on him, she places her beer bottle pointedly on the floor before standing. Pulling down his sweats to reveal her bare legs, tossing them his way. “Just getting a bit hot,” she says by way of explanation.

A weak fucking one at that, given her next move. Again making herself comfortable on his couch, though this time it’s with one heeled foot on his coffee table, the other stretched out on the couch, to open herself up.

Allowing Bellamy to get a view of her bare, pink cunt.

His cock immediately jumps at the sight, tension pulling hot through his body. _Fuck_. While he’d noticed the red dress she had in hand after changing, he didn’t see any other strip of fabric. Either, she hid them from his view to surprise him now, or she wasn’t wearing them at all tonight. Bellamy’s not sure which would be hotter, can’t think past anything but the woman before him, holding his attention so fucking acutely as she sucks two fingers into her mouth. Drops them between her thighs.

Clarke Griffin — socialite, brat, heiress to one of the richest families in the country — on his shitty couch, about the fuck herself in front of him.

Testing him on his level-headedness, because of-fucking-course she is.

She starts with her clit, a couple of fingers circling lightly to get them both eased into the situation. Bellamy imagines the bud swelling under her touch, knows that if it were him playing with her pussy right now, he’d use his mouth instead, suck at her clit relentlessly until she broke with the kind of pleasure that’s tinged with pain. His cock swells at the thought, at the pretty picture of Clarke’s cunt growing wet with arousal, the brazen desire that’s alight in her expression.

One that only grows more heated when she slides her fingers properly into her cunt, lets her other hand shift beneath his top to play with her tits, too.

His gaze runs over her greedily as she builds herself up, his fingers tightening on his beer bottle, hunger drawing every muscle in his body taut. His restraint pushed to its absolute fucking limit, knowing that he can’t take her body into his own hands, that he can’t so much as press a hand to his aching cock, not without giving into her games.

Far more power than he’s willing to concede.

Soft, breathy sounds become drawn whines as she takes herself closer and closer to the edge, the bare skin he can see flushing a pretty pink, and when she does come, it’s fucking gorgeous. A moan that breaks with her pleasure, her legs shaking where they’re spread for him, eyes falling shut as her mouth drops into a fucked-out smile.

He’s glad that it takes her a long minute to come down from the high, because he needs it himself, to recover from the show.

Thankfully, by the time she comes to, slipping her fingers free from her pussy, he’s managed to even out his breaths. Her gaze is hazy, but her smile remains wickedly sharp when she brings her fingers to her mouth. Sucks her arousal clean.

“Thanks for that,” she says with a soft hum, voice huskier now. She makes no move to cover herself up, keeping her legs spread so that her cunt remains in Bellamy’s line of sight. “I love people watching me.”

Bellamy clears his throat, trying a smile of his own. “I’m getting to understand that, princess. Time for me to take you home?”

Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she takes her time running her eyes over him. Unsurprisingly, lingering on his cock, clearly hard beneath his jeans. “Don’t want me to take care of that first?”

“That’s alright. Mel owes me one.”

Indignant jealousy flashes across Clarke’s face, gone before he can properly appreciate the way it plays on her features. She’s so used to getting her own way, to having people fall to their knees before her. It’s so fucking enjoyable denying her of that, despite the way his cock protests his words.

“Well, she’ll have to wait,” Clarke says. “I’m suddenly exhausted.” Only now does she stand, covering herself up. His top falls just over her thighs. “Where’s your room? I’ll just crash there.”

Fuck, the entitlement is astounding. Bellamy stands, careful not to let any frustration show. It’s exactly what she’d want. “Just through here,” he says, leading her to one of two doors. The sheets on his bed are still rumpled from his time with Mel, something he’s grateful for now. “Might smell like sex, but go for it. I’ll manage on the couch. Bathroom’s the next door. Probably a spare toothbrush in the cabinet.”

She looks at the bed for a long moment, before shifting her gaze to him, holding it there long enough that the moment becomes charged with a dangerous sort of energy. One last attempt to test his resolve, but Bellamy holds strong. Clarke purses her lips. “Goodnight, Mr Blake.”

“Night, princess.”

He makes up the couch while she gets herself ready for bed — _his_ bed — only venturing back to the bathroom once his bedroom door is firmly closed. In the shower, he finally wraps a hand around his aching cock, stroking himself under the hot stream of water until he unravels. Has to bite his first to stifle the groan as he comes, watching as his load is shot onto the tile wall. Thinks about how much better it’d look on Clarke’s face.

With his cock taken care of, he pulls on some fresh briefs and settles on the couch. He only just fits, but he’s slept on worse. And somehow, despite the woman who’s got it fucking _out_ for him only one room over, he manages to fall asleep quickly.

+

When he wakes in the morning, it’s to Clarke gone, a note on his kitchen counter, clearly a mockery of Mel’s yesterday. _Thanks for the bed. I fucked myself on one of your pillows! Guess which one._

He figures he may as well, and when he does, he adds his come to hers on it.

It’s his day to change the sheets anyway.

+

He’s got Friday off as well, and this time, Clarke doesn’t text him to collect her in the middle of the night.

It’s a free evening that Saturday more than makes up for. When he arrives, it’s to a schedule outlining five Halloween events, and David waiting for him in the staff room. From the somewhat uncomfortable look on his face, with the intent to have a conversation he doesn’t particularly want to.

Offering Bellamy a coffee, David nods for him to take a seat. “I’ve been informed Miss Griffin requested a lift yesterday morning, from an address we have on file,” he says, levelling him with a frank look, brows raised. Bellamy makes sure to keep quiet. If he isn’t outright saying it was Bellamy’s, this must be an informal caution. “It’s not encouraged to get involved with clients.”

Bellamy nods. “Understood, sir.”

It’s all David needs to hear, thankfully. Bellamy lets out a slow breath when he leaves the room, leaning back in his chair. Of course she requested a lift from his fucking address. This is what happens when you give an inch to someone like Clarke, who plays and plays and plays, and never faces the consequences of her games.

He gets a text from her barely fifteen minutes into his shift, rolls his eyes when she mentions it’s for her _and_ a date. They’re standing on the front porch when he pulls the car around, her date with his arm wrapped around Clarke’s waist, though she seems to be trying to pull away.

Interesting.

Bellamy smirks, eyes on the pair as he gets out of the car, opens the back seat door as is his role. A move that makes Clarke’s date frown. Bellamy’s guessing he wanted to opportunity for chivalry himself, can’t help but find that amusing. He mustn’t know Clarke very well, if _that’s_ what he thinks she wants.

Bellamy wonders how he’d feel discovering she got herself off in front of him only two nights ago.

Wonders whether the NDA he signed covers it, given he wasn’t working. It would be a lot of fun watching Clarke’s reaction, too. The perfect princess exposed as a fucking exhibitionist.

It’s a fantasy that catches in his mind when he actually turns to look past her date, take Clarke in properly. She looks fucking ethereal, in a dress that looks like it’d fall apart with a single tug of a tie. Silk, a soft cream colour that falls perfectly over her curves. A gold headpiece fans out atop her loose curls, and feathered wings sit at her back, rounding off the costume to suggest that she’s an angel.

The irony is not lost on Bellamy.

Her date, for his part, is in a pin stripe suit and a fucking horrible fedora. Bellamy’s guessing mob boss. He looks like the kind of guy who’d have asked for a couple’s costume, and Bellamy feels an odd sense of satisfaction that if he happened to have, Clarke obviously declined.

She ushers him into the car first, half closes the door. Obviously wanting some privacy with Bellamy. Should be good.

“Well,” she says, a sinful, little smile on her pink-stained lip, as she does a single twirl for him. “What do you think?”

Bellamy considers, eyes running over her slowly. Up close, he can appreciate the way the cream and gold make her skin glow, the soft, floral perfume she’s wearing that somehow suits the costume perfectly. Even more so the low cut of the dress, how it allows a generous view of the tits he knows to be fucking incredible. It’s clear she’s not wearing a bra.

“I think you’ve obviously taken the opportunity to go as you’re _not_.”

Her laugh is soft, flirtatious. He thinks she likes it when he’s a little mean. Reaching over to open the door back up, he nods for Clarke to get in.

On the drive to the first party, he learns that Clarke’s date’s name is Finn Collins, and that he’s a fucking douchebag. Has to stifle a laugh when she declines his suggestion to put up the divider for some privacy — after how many people she’s fucked back there — and seems largely uninterested by his attempts to woo her. Given the number of events they’ve got on the agenda for the night, it doesn’t exactly bode well for Finn. Bellamy maybe should feel for the guy, but he’s going his own shit going on with this fucking brat of a princess.

His concern can’t really extend beyond that.

The first two parties take him into the early hours of the morning, and after pulling into the lot to wait out the third, he expects about the same time commitment. Each drive has seen Clarke become increasingly bored with her date, and Finn increasingly desperate, which Bellamy will admit is a little fun to watch. He wonders if the man will make it home with Clarke tonight, but even with her track record of fucking, doubts it.

He’s found her line, and it’s Finn Collins.

So perhaps he shouldn’t be all that surprised when he receives a text barely thirty minutes into the third of five events, Clarke asking him to collect her _asap_. Instinctively, he pulls out of the lot far quicker than he usually would, something he wouldn’t quite call relief settling in his chest when he spots her out the front of the lavish venue.

She’s racing down the front steps before he’s got a chance to even draw the car to a stop, hop out to help her in, but Clarke proves that she does possess the skill of opening doors herself, sliding into the car as quick as she can.

“Go, go, _go_ ,” she says, her voice somewhere between breathless and giggling, her eyes focused back at the entrance of the venue.

Bellamy does peel away, though, now sure that she’s okay, rolls his eyes as he does. He’s not sure he’s ever met a more fucking dramatic person in his life. “Not exactly a getaway car, princess.”

She only relaxes back into her seat once he’s turned onto the road. Hesitates for another beat before she offers an explanation. “I may have just been proposed to.”

It’s a statement that draws an angry, almost primal shot to his chest. Bellamy recognises it as jealousy. “I thought Finn was just your date,” he says, the words coming out low and rough, close to an accusation. His grip on the steering wheel has tightened, as has his jaw.

“I mean, technically — _technically_ — we were seeing each other, but I didn’t know he thought it was serious! I only ever fucked him when I was high or bored!”

That she has at all makes him irrationally angry. While he still finds her fucking ridiculous, someone like Clarke shouldn’t be wasted on a guy like Finn Collins. Bellamy bets he wouldn’t be able to locate her clit if he was fucking paid to. Given he’s somehow missed the numerous times Clarke’s cheated on him — with at least five people, that Bellamy knows of; six, if he includes himself —attention to detail obviously can’t be his strong suit.

Bellamy forces himself to take a slow breath, relax his body. He’s not sure why this has put him on more edge than hearing her get fucked in the back seat has. Perhaps the knowledge that someone tried to claim her once and for all. Not with a possessive fuck, but a proposal.

“Sounds about right,” he says, clearing his throat when it still comes out angry. “I’m guessing the hasty exit means you said no?”

“After I sucked him off in apology.” His gaze flicks to hers in the rearview mirror. She rolls her eyes with a small laugh. “I’m _joking_. God, would you really believe that?”

“You really think you’re in a position to ask me that?”

She laughs again, one that turns into that sweet little hum of hers. He imagines she’s happily running through the list of people she’s brought into this very car with her. “You’re right, Mr Blake. Precedent isn’t exactly on my side.”

“No, it’s not. Where am I taking you?”

Clarke considers, leaning forward to take off her wings, throw them beside her. Then her headpiece. “Next party is at Wells’. He’s unexpectedly good with his hands, considering how buttoned-up everyone thinks he is.” There’s a smile in her voice as she says that, and when Bellamy again meets her eyes through the mirror, he catches the challenge that’s once again alight in them. “Bet he’d let me steal him away for a while, calm me down with a quick fuck.”

He can’t help but bark a laugh, any semblance of professionalism gone. “You think getting fucked _calms_ you down?”

“Well, what do you think?”

Bellamy smirks, shaking his head. His anger has thankfully eased, but the heat it drew throughout his body remains. “You don’t want to know what I think, princess.”

She considers it for a beat, another soft hum. “Only if it’s something good.”

He can’t help but chuckle again. Brat.

Fucking _brat_.

He pulls onto the highway anyway, contemplating whether he’ll actually make the full drive to Wells’. He’s taken Clarke there plenty of times, and will admit the man is one of her better friends. He didn’t realise he was yet another person she fucked, but he’s not exactly surprised that she took advantage of this particular friendship. Wells is fucking hot. Bellamy wouldn’t mind a go himself.

Before he can make a decision, he hears a familiar noise coming from behind him. A soft, pleased sigh that takes him right back to his apartment two nights ago, when Clarke started playing with her clit on his couch. Eyes flicking to he rearview mirror, tension pulls hot through him. Though he can’t see her pussy beneath her dress, it’s clear she’s got a hand pressed there.

Clear that she’s fucking herself in front of him.

_Again._

A sound as close to a growl as he’s ever heard from himself rumbles from his chest. Loud enough that it draws Clarke’s attention. She looks fucking _ecstatic_ by the sound, whatever angry look he must be giving her through the mirror.

“Are you playing with your pussy again, Miss Griffin?”

Her smile is positively sinful. “I told you I needed to calm down.”

The words are out before Bellamy can remind himself of his control. The culmination of all the stunts she’s pulled over the past two months now — after learning she was just proposed to, after catching her getting herself off _again_ — finally shoving him past his limit. “Take your hand off your pussy. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Excitement blows her eyes dark, alight. He catches the shiver that runs through her as she does as ordered, pulling her hand free from beneath her dress.

Bellamy focuses back on the road ahead of him, though not without issuing one last warning. “If you touch your cunt again without my permission, you will be punished, Miss Griffin. Do you understand?”

Desire threads so clearly into her response. “I understand.”

Thankfully, Bellamy knows this area well. Recalls from a particularly shitty night back as an Uber driver, going down this very highway with a passenger about to throw up. Now, he almost feels bad about the shit rating he gave the man, given the knowledge that particular trip has provided him. That there’s a small area coming up, past the shoulder of the road and partially hidden by trees, that he can pull into.

Nobody’s driving behind him on the highway, so Bellamy slows, eyes scanning the area. Turning off onto the dirt path when he sees it. Far enough that he knows they’ll be hidden by the surrounding trees, when other cars inevitably pass by.

Tension is a thick, heated presence between them, as he puts the car into park, turns off the engine. Again meets Clarke’s gaze through the rearview mirror. In hers, he can see darkened hope, arousal. She suspects what’s about to happen. That after weeks of provocation, he’s finally going to do something about her behaviour.

Show her what spoil little brats get when their games catch up to them.

“Out,” he orders, voice low, authoritative. He watches her do as told, waits until she’s out in the mild October night air before pulling a condom from his bag in the passenger seat. Boy scout, always prepared.

He shrugs off his suit jacket before joining her outside. Runs his gaze over her hungrily, where she’s standing by the hood of of the car, eyes wide with anticipation, that bottom lip of hers drawn between her fucking teeth. Bellamy strides towards her, hands finding the curve of her waist straight away. He turns her around, eyes sweeping over the expanse of her back. Without the wings of her costume, it’s almost completely bare. With a single finger he traces the length of her spine, from the top of her neck, to where a bow is tied nice and low.

Just as he suspected, the cream silk pools at her feet with just one tug, leaving her almost completely naked. Only a pair of fuck-me heels, and a beige, cotton thong covering her, one that makes her ass look so fucking enticing.

Pressing a hand to her back, Bellamy bends her over onto the hood of the car. Enjoys the soft gasp the move draws, warm skin meeting cool metal. It’s a promising sound, as he slides his touch further down, to the soft flesh of her ass. As, without warning, he brings his other hand down over it, slapping the creamy skin and watching it turn a far prettier pink.

Clarke squeaks in response, looking at him over her shoulder, eyes widened in surprise. From the darkness blown, arousal too.

“You’ve been playing with me, princess. Do you know how fucking naughty that is?” Bellamy’s voice is rough, accusation threaded into his words. Again Clarke looks surprised, as though unsure how to respond when her behaviour’s actually called out. It’s hesitation that has him slapping her ass again, the other cheek this time. Heat rushing to his cock when she makes a longer whine this time. “Answer me, princess. Do you know that you’re a spoilt fucking _brat_ , teasing me like you have been?”

The delicate column of her throat works with her swallow. She blinks up at him, once, twice. Nods. “Yes.”

That growling sound returns. “That’s fucking right.” Bellamy steps back, creating enough space that he can kick between her legs. “Spread for me, princess. I want to get a proper look at this needy pussy. Gets so much attention but never fucking satisfied, is it? Nobody ever fucks you right, is that it?”

“It’s never enough,” she confesses, and he wonders if it’s for the first time. Whether anyone knows how truly desperate she is.

Bellamy tugs her thong to the side, presses his fingers between the lips of her cunt. She’s absolutely drenched, not the he’s surprised. “That’s because nobody knows how to treat you, princess,” he explains, teasing her pussy with a gentle slide over her. “You’re just a little slut who needs to be put in her place.”

Something raw flashes in her eyes with the assessment, as though it’s the first time anyone’s put it so plainly. Bellamy waits, holding her gaze as a quiet, almost primal intensity bleeds into the tension already palpable between them, until after a long moment she yields, nodding.

He rewards the acknowledgment with his hand, getting his fingers on her clit and pinching. Her head falls forward onto the car, that sweet squeak turning into a soft whine when he dips them into her cunt, begins fucking her on his fingers. The stretch of her so fucking sweet his cock swells beneath his trousers as he works her up, the thought of sliding into her properly, feeling her pussy hot and tight around him, a test of his control.

Thankfully, she’s quick to build. Given how long she’s been toying with him, it’s not exactly a surprise, though it’s still gratifying. Even more so, being in the position to once again deny her.

Just as he feels her closing in on an orgasm, he pulls his fingers free. Chuckles when she whines pathetically in response.

Undeterred, Clarke presses back into him, wiggling her ass. Bellamy’s quick to slap it again.

“Stop that,” he says, lowering his voice into the rough, authoritative tone he’s learning she needs. Immediately, she obeys. “You’re not in control here, princess. You’ll come when I say so.”

At that, he pulls himself free of his trousers, his rock-hard cock desperate to receive the sweet treatment his fingers just did. Grabbing the condom from his pocket, he rolls it down his length, anticipation licking hot at his skin as he presses the swollen head of his cock to the lips of her slick pussy to line himself up.

Drives into her with one smooth, hard stroke.

She cries out, and Bellamy grins wickedly, finishes his warning: “And not a fucking moment before then.”

He fucks her the way spoilt, little whores need to be, allowing weeks of tension to find release in the hard stroke of his cock, the sharp slap of his hips against her ass. She responds with the expected fervour, her pussy taking each thrust greedily, her body so innately drawn to pleasure. It’s a fucking sight to behold, Bellamy’s eyes running over her bare form hungrily, watching as the brat of a princess who finds so much amusement in playing her games, unravels when finally held accountable for them.

Leaning forward, Bellamy threads a hand tight into her hair, pulling her slightly off the car. “Bet it turns you on, princess,” he murmurs lowly. “Getting fucked like this on the side of the road. By someone so many fucking classes beneath you.”

The responding whine is perfectly telling, as is the way her pussy clenches around his cock.

“That your cunt is being taken care of by the fucking _help_.”

“Fuck, fuck. _Bellamy_.”

He chuckles, increasing his pace. “That’s right, princess. Don’t forget who’s fucking you like this. Bet Finn doesn’t know what a little slut you are. Bet he doesn’t treat you how you need to be treated.”

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t, _he doesn’t._ He doesn’t know a fucking thing.”

“Poor princess,” Bellamy coos mockingly, getting his free hand around her to again find her clit. When he pinches it, her whole body jolts. “You have to toy with so many people to get your fill, because your boyfriend doesn’t know how to fuck you right.”

She doesn’t deny the claim. Bellamy laughs, slapping at her ass again. Fuck, the way it jiggles as he fucks her is unbelievable. She’s a woman built for pleasure, her pussy greedy for his cock, the sweetest, hungry sounds falling from her lips, and it’s barely a few minutes growing harder, faster, keeping the attention on her swollen clit, that she again draws close to release.

This time, he’s feeling kinder. “You can come now, princess. You’ve earned it.”

And really, given her efforts over the past few weeks, she has.

As though his permission was all she needed, she tumbles right over the edge. Coming with a gorgeous fucking moan, cunt clenching hot and tight around his cock, body trembling against the hood of the car. He works her through it keenly, fucks her until she’s spent, relaxing onto the cool metal of the car with a soft sigh.

She could easily take a few more, but that would be too much of a reward for her recent behaviour.

Pulling out, Bellamy takes off the condom before drawing Clarke back to standing. His hand moves to wrap lightly around her neck, his thick cock nestled at her ass. “What do you say, princess?”

She hums, dropping her head back onto his shoulder. Satisfaction etched in every feature of her face. “Thank you, Mr Blake.”

“Good girl.” Dropping his hands to her waist, Bellamy turns her around to face him. Frowns when he sees little, beige stickers over her nipples “What the fuck are these?” He peels each of them off quickly, pinches her nipples with rough fingers and watches them draw to far prettier peaks under his touch.

Clarke shivers. “They’re to keep your nipples from poking through your dress.”

He levels her with an unimpressed look. “You trying to tell me you don’t want people knowing when you’re turned on?”

Her laugh is breathy, still fucked-out from her orgasm, though the smile she sends him hasn’t lost any of its wickedness. “You may have a point.”

It’s so satisfying, hearing her concede even the smaller of them to him. Bellamy smirks, nods to the ground. “Get on your knees, princess. You’re going to finish me off with your mouth while I watch you play with your tits, okay?”

Her gaze flashes as she looks to the dirt path they’re standing on, but she obeys quickly enough, dropping to her knees before him. Bellamy watches hungrily as she blinks up at him from that position, all that bare skin practically glistening under the pale moonlight, her eyes wide and hazed with desire. Leaning in, she takes his hard cock in hand, wraps her lips around the swollen head. Bellamy threads his hand through her hair, uses the leverage to draw her further down the length his cock, lets the darkened gaze he’s got locked on hers act as a warning.

_No. More. Teasing._

It’s a prompt that has immediate results. Unsurprisingly, Clarke sucks cock like a dirty fucking slut, eager and a little messy. Getting him nice and slick with her spit, making all sorts of noises as she slides her mouth over his thick length, as though his cock is the best damn thing she’s ever tasted.

Once she’s found her rhythm, she shifts her free hand to play with her tits too, massaging the soft flesh, teasing her flushed nipples. Bellamy drinks in the sight greedily, the familiar hum of tension drawing at his cock, one that only surges when Clarke shifts the hand she’s got at the base of his cock to instead cup his balls. Takes advantage of the extra length it provides and works her mouth further down his cock, over and over, until it hits the back of her throat. When she swallows, Bellamy groans.

“Fuck, princess,” he says, the words roughened, hungry. Tightening his grip through her hair, he tugs her head back, opening her up wider. Can’t help but start thrusting into her himself, not caring that without some warning, it’s an asshole move. Clarke more than deserves it. “God, you feel so good, princess. Knew this mouth must serve some fucking purpose.”

A whine of protest sends light vibrations over his cock as he feels himself draw closer to his own release. Eyes falling closed, his head drops back as he fucks her mouth faster, harder, its wet heat so fucking perfect as she continues to take him, continues to make those gorgeous sounds, until Bellamy’s balls draw up and his cock swells, and with a groan of pleasure, he spills into her mouth.

She swallows with a finesse he’s not at all surprised about, takes all he’s got to offer until Bellamy relaxes from the release. Slides off him with a little, wet _pop_ , and remains on her knees before him until he again meets her gaze.

Waiting for permission to move, because of course she already is. All she needed was some training.

Bellamy smirks, tucking himself back into his trousers. “Up you get, princess,” he says, eyes running over her again. All that pale, bare skin flushed pink now. Eyes hooded and dark with satisfaction, though in a way that he recognises is different from the other times he’s seen her post-fuck — something more primal about it now, satiation that extends further than physical release. Crouching before her, Bellamy chuckles when he catches the excitement that flashes across her face. She thinks he’s about to reciprocate with his mouth. Bellamy shakes his head. “You’re only getting one tonight, princess.”

Instead, he gets her dress in hand, rights its position so Clarke can step back into it. Raising his gaze to hers, the frustration that’s risen over her satisfaction is easy to recognise. In her position, she’d so rarely be told no. It’s something that, with him, she’ll have to get used to. Now, despite her irritation, she steps into the dress, keeps still as Bellamy pulls it up her body, getting the straps back over her shoulders.

She turns without being asked, and he finds the tie that unravelled everything earlier, tugs it to cinch the top of her dress into place, tying a new bow.

Turning back to face him, Clarke whines when she looks down at herself, the dress stained with grass and dirt.

“It’s fucking ruined!”

Bellamy chuckles, enjoying the indignation that crosses the princess’ face as she stares at him. Like this is all his fault. He supposes, in this case, it is. He shrugs, eyes running over her. She looks entirely like a brat who just got fucked rough and dirty. “I’m sure you can afford another one, princess,” he says. “And just think, every time you look at the dress, it’ll remind you of what a dirty fucking slut you are.”

Her eyes flame, pink staining her cheeks. He’s guessing that outside of the haze of arousal, it’s a description she’s not as keen to have labelled to her, especially by him. Bellamy doesn’t care, though. It’s the truth. He walks past her before she’s able to find a response, getting the keys from his pocket and unlocking the car. Opens the back door for her and nods for her to get in.

“After you.”

She doesn’t move for a long beat, tension again growing thick between them. But then, in a gorgeous act of submission, she follows, sliding into the back seat with an elegance that shouldn’t be possible of someone who just got fucked on the side of a highway.

Bellamy smirks, leaning down before he shuts the door, this warning one that requires explicit instruction. “And don’t you dare even _think_ about playing with that pussy again. It belongs to me now, princess.”

Closing the door before she can respond, he hops back into the driver’s seat and turns on the engine. Pulls back onto the highway without issue, though he doesn’t take the exit that would take them to Wells’ house. The princess doesn’t need another party, she needs to go to bed. He keeps a keen eye on her, conscious of every sound over the music — now, a rather sensual remix of Crazy in Love, part of a playlist he’s sure has been made to fuck to — looking back at her through the rearview mirror more than is at all necessary, but Clarke does as he ordered, not moving a muscle.

They arrive back at the Griffin estate without another word spoken between them, and this time, when Bellamy helps Clarke from the car, he ventures further than the driveway. For the first time, he escorts her up the ridiculous set of marble stairs, all the way up to the huge front door of the mansion.

It’s the least he can do, after he’s just fucked her like he did. The kind of rough fuck that’s reflected so very clearly in her appearance.

Bellamy smirks. He’d love to get a photo of her like this, the spoilt princess revealed as a dirty, little whore — hair messed, expression still hazed, dress rumpled and stained. To her credit, she’s not shying from the fact now, as he would’ve expected when she first complained about the ruined dress. Doesn’t grow nervous as they linger at her front door, where, despite the early hour of the Sunday morning, some staff member or another will likely see her as soon as she opens it.

She unlocks it first, though doesn’t make a move to step inside, blinking up at Bellamy slowly. In her eyes, he sees not only desire, but invitation, though she’s not so bold as to voice it, not now that he’s put her so thoroughly in her place.

A fact that has heat licking so enticingly at his skin, that already — so fucking quickly — she’s recognising the shift of power tonight has brought. That all she needed was a firm hand, someone holding her accountable for her brattish behaviour, to submit to the role that she so clearly craves to be in.

Bellamy smirks. “I believe it’s time for bed, Miss Griffin. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

While as her driver, it’s definitely not his place to make such a judgement, in this new, far more dangerous dynamic that’s formed between them, Clarke doesn’t argue. Even when he tests her, provides the perfect opportunity to.

“Is that all you’ll be needing for tonight, princess?”

She works her bottom lip between her teeth, looking up at him with wide, needy eyes. Pathetic looks fucking delectable on her. “For your driving services, yes.”

It’s a distinction that makes him chuckle, though Bellamy’s pleased that her words aren’t said with the intent to challenge him, more so just to voice her disappointment. Still, he’s not stupid enough to do anything in her own home, nor does he think the princess has really earned a full night of attention. Can’t give her too much too soon, or she might think she can provoke him some more, question the authority he’s secured tonight.

“In that case, I’ll be off.” Leaning in, he lets his lips brush up against her ear. Enjoys the quiet hitch of her breath. “And remember, princess, you’re still not allowed to touch your pretty pussy tonight. It still belongs to me, even if I’m not there to keep an eye on you. Understand?”

“Yes, Mr Blake.”

Pulling back, Bellamy smiles wickedly. In just ten seconds, Clarke’s eyes have blown with further arousal, her cheeks flushing pink again. “Good. Because believe me, princess, I’ll know if you’ve touched yourself. And if you’ve disobeyed me, I’ll have no choice but to punish you.”

From the look that flashes across her face, he wonders whether she will, just to earn that punishment. He wouldn’t be surprised. That’s what little brats do. But he’ll have to wait until his shift tomorrow to see how she does.

Eager to leave on that warning, Bellamy turns away, feels the distinct weight of Clarke’s gaze hot on his neck until he slides into the car again. Turns it on to pull into the garage for the remainder of the night.

Gathering his crap from the staff room, he’s reminded of his conversation with David earlier, advising him not to get involved with Clarke. Hardly feels like it was only hours ago, when so much has happened — Bellamy doing exactly what he was warned against.

Already he knows that it’s a decision likely to blow up in his face, but with the memory of Clarke’s greedy pussy pulsing around his cock, her hot mouth sucking him off eagerly, the way she submitted to him so gorgeously, with only his barest of efforts—the beginning of a dynamic that will be so fucking enjoyable to play with — Bellamy knows he won’t be able to resist.

It’ll likely end in disaster, but _fuck_ will the whole middle part be wickedly fun.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed!!! Kudos & comments always appreciated
> 
> I made a fic aesthetic too, if you wanna have a look [here](https://bisexualbellamyblake.tumblr.com/post/633524567307141120/lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous-bellarke)
> 
> shout out to em whose playlist helped this fic along with the good, sxc tunes


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